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Maybelline

The Unbroken Circle

By Edna Peirce Dixon

December 1, 2023

The story of Maybelline begins in 1947. Howard and Annie Mae Dixon were just kids when they got married 4 years before. Already they had faced enough adversity to dishearten even the most seasoned souls. Howard was just 21 and he worked hard in a South Carolina cotton mill to support his little family, 3-year-old Paul and baby Shirley. Nothing could have prepared the couple for the meningitis that took the life of their baby girl at 18 months of age. And as if that were not tragedy enough, Howard’s older brother, Walter, came home from WWII after four years in France only to die of tuberculosis in a VA hospital at the tender age of 23.

Howard & Annie Mae Dixon
South Carolina 1957

Perhaps all this unbearable sorrow was part of the reason Howard went out and purchased something that would bring him joy and purpose. Most certainly, as his brother, Jack, remembers, all the family was happy when Howard bought his beautiful new 1947 Epiphone Broadway guitar.

As the Dixon boys were growing up in the country, the family lived off the land. They labored in farm fields in return for an old house with no electricity or running water. Their garden, chickens, a hog, and a milk cow provided everything they needed. Each Fall their friend, “Kill” Starns, came to help the family kill and butcher a hog and they would preserve the meat with salt for the year ahead. Kill was also a fine guitar player and promised Howard he would teach him how to play. And so he did.

For Howard, this was just the beginning of a lifelong love of making music. For several years during his youth – after the family saved enough to afford a radio and a battery to run it – they all loved listening to the Grand Ole Opry. Inspired by all the different performers, Howard’s one big desire was to pick and sing just for the love of it.

So Howard learned to pick this shiny new Epiphone. After four or five years, he was ready to move on up, so he added another guitar and then another to his collection. Eventually, he gave his first guitar to his older sister, Matt, and for the next 25years or so the Epiphone was mostly stored away. Seldom played and without proper climate conditions, the instrument’s wood began to crack, and its seams come apart.

Fast forward to 1976. Howard’s younger brother, Jack, now lives in Texas with a family of his own. On a trip back to visit the family in South Carolina, Aunt Matt wants to give everyone gifts. She takes them to her storage shed to pick out something from among her many treasures. It was love at first sight when 13-year-old Heyward sees the Epiphone for the first time. Though somewhat damaged, the guitar is still beautiful to see and hear, and soon she is on her way to a new home in Texas.

A few years later, the family leaves Texas and moves to Tennessee. Heyward graduated high school, and though he never found his niche as a musician, he knew the guitar was special and  when he went off to college, the treasured Epiphone went with him. In time as his circle of college friends grew, Heyward took notice of another student whose expressed philosophy of life was not unlike his own. Larry happened to be a musician, and Heyward was glad for the opportunity to attend a campus performance as an assignment in his journalism class. Heyward was to interview Larry and write a piece about him.

The interview went well and opened the door for future conversations that sparked the beginning of a lifelong friendship. As Heyward would learn, Larry played a mean blues guitar and wrote much of his own material. On one particular night, Larry brought the house down spinning a humorous musical tale about the adventures of a bullfrog. After the show, Heyward invited Larry to come to his apartment; said he had something to show him. When Heyward opened the guitar case and saw Larry’s eyes light up at the sight of the old Epiphone, he knew his impulse had been correct, and in that moment in 1983, he gifted the old guitar to his friend.

As a college student, Larry didn’t have much money and once he found someone with the skills to repair the old guitar, it took several years and no small expense to get the full restoration completed. Once imbued with new life, the Epiphone would travel widely with the now professional blues man known as Warren Gently. Somewhere along the way, shortly after coming off stage one night, someone admired Warren’s old guitar and asked if she had a name. Just at that moment, Warren heard the next act belting out their version of Chuck Berry’s Maybelline. Without blinking he told the fan, “Maybelline, that’s her name.” And so it was and still is.

Now forty years have passed since Warren and Maybelline began their love affair. Oh, she’s been a high-maintenance girl. Maybelline doesn’t cotton to the heat or the cold, so Warren babies her like the classy lady she is. Maybelline may be a bit of a diva, but she still rides around snug in her comfy old case held together with love and a few rolls of duct tape.

There’s an old song about an unbroken circle that country folks everywhere know and love. Come to think of it, back in the day Howard Dixon may very well have sung that song when Maybelline was still shiny new. Howard has been gone for many years now but brother Jack, at age 92, still has memories of those times of hardship, sorrow, and joy so long ago. Now, on this day, November 24, 2023, it just so happened that Heyward and his sweetheart were getting married at their Tennessee home. Family members from around the country were gathered for the wedding. Both father, Jack, and old friend, Warren, were there to celebrate…and so was Maybelline.

Jack Dixon, Warren Gently, Heyward Dixon Nov. 24, 2023

After the ceremony on this November evening, most of the family had gone outside to roast marshmallows and sing around the fire pit. The old man, up past his bedtime, was tired and ready to go home, but when he saw Warren bring the battered old case into the kitchen, he forgot his weariness. The next half-hour was simply magical. Hearing Warren play and sing with his brother’s old guitar made all the good memories come flooding back.  Years before, he had had some misgivings when Heyward gave the guitar away. But as he listened to the music and heard the stories Warren had to tell, he truly understood that Heyward had made the right decision. The old guitar was indeed in the best hands and in this moment, the circle was complete.

UPDATE August 2024 – From an old letter dated June 2003: Jack’s brother, Howard died recently and we attended his funeral. He was 77 and had been ill with kidney disease for some time. His passing was not so much a sad time as a time of joyful remembrance and reunion for scattered family. His children have always been special to us so we were delighted to have the chance to see them again…and their now-grown children. There is one special thing I’d like to share. Howard was a very hardworking, gentle man who spent his life laboring in the cotton mill and tending his beautiful vegetable gardens. He never ventured far from home. Though not educated, Howard always had this uncanny ability to recite poetry right out of the blue which amazed everyone. This talent was much discussed and his daughter, Peggy’s only regret is that she never got his poems recorded.B ut she did share the roots of his ability which should strike a cord with the teachers among us.

When Howard was in 3rd an 4th grades in a small country school he was quite smitten with his teacher. One of her favorite activities was to have her students memorize poems and recite them. Wanting so much to please, Howard went far beyond the call and memorized ALL the poems in the book…and he never forgot a one of them. Now, many years later this same teacher happened to be teaching in town at the Junior High and had a couple of Dixon kids in her class. She mentioned to Peggy and Jimmy that she once had a student named Dixon and began to describe him. Part of that description was this young man’s special talent for reciting poetry. Peggy asked his first name and was not surprised to learn it was her dad. Soon thereafter, Peggy and Jimmy took their dad to school to meet his old teacher and for a couple of hours, he once again recited his poems for his “first love.” Even during his last few days in the hospital, Howard kept the nurses enthralled with his poetry. epd

Featured

An Invitation from E. P. Dixon

I am an elder and a seeker, an outsider by nature, always looking through cracks in the fences of life trying to make sense of the world. Being an outsider can be lonely sometimes, but oh, what treasures can be found in most unexpected places. Without question one of my life’s greatest blessings came when I reached out for understanding and came to know a remarkable Native American warrior hidden in a world of his own. For nine years, I had the privilege to be both friend and advocate for Ghost Dancer, a remarkably wise and kind elder in federal prison. Over time Ghost began to reveal details of his life and his wrongful conviction, even asking my assistance in filing pro se legal motions as he continued his fight for justice from within the prison walls. The more I learned, the more I came to understand the full extent of his story and realized the importance that not only his wise teachings but also his life journey and struggles with injustice within the justice system be shared with the world.

Ghost Dancer – Known as a “gentle giant,” a wise elder, teacher, artist, and keeper of the old ways, Ghost has a deep understanding of the spiritual and cultural traditions of the Southeastern Native Peoples, as well as the Lakota Sioux and other western tribal People. Little by little over the course of years of my friendship with him, Ghost has shared bits and pieces of his life story, but much he kept to himself. Then in 2020, at the beginning of the Covid pandemic, with his health in a shambles, Ghost wrote pro se motions to the courts that convicted him asking for compassionate release. A year later, after multiple near-death health crisis episodes, Ghost was finally granted release from prison. After gaining his freedom in late 2021, Ghost agreed to tell his story. From the very beginning, Ghost’s biographical work, ALL FOR THE RIGHT TO PRAY takes the reader chapter by chapter through the course of this one man’s lifelong struggles to just be himself and live peacefully in a world where he knew even in childhood that he was “out of time, out of place.” Ghost Dancer’s story is both a revelation of the sheer evil that can negatively impact a person’s life as well as testament to the power of Spirit to give them the strength and helpers to triumph over it. From his world behind prison walls, GHOST’S SACRED PATH honors his Muskogee and Ani-Yun-Wiya ancestors as he shares a lifetime of fascinating stories, wisdom and thoughts to uplift us all and help us grow in our understanding of traditional Native beliefs and life ways.

In 2019, Ghost introduced me to another Native American inmate, Walks On The Grass. Walks’ life journey was entirely different but compelling and insightful in it’s own way. What the two had in common was their love of heritage and the practice of traditional Native American religious ceremony as a means of healing, teaching and surviving in the dark and hostile world of the “iron house” where Native inmates are the smallest minority. It is my personal honor to give both these two beautiful people voice to share their stories in “Journeys of the Spirit.”

Walks On The Grass – Readers will be riveted to each Chapter of LONG ROAD HOME as this delightfully warm and talented man shares an honest and compelling account of his amazing journey. From the first line, “I was born broken,” Walks navigates a path filled with bumps, boulders and wrong turns in search of wholeness. Through the grounding of songs, prayers and ceremony in the Inipi, traditional Lakota sweat lodge, and the support of wise elders and teachers, Walks gradually comes home to his true self. You won’t want to miss it. The fascinating story continues in ALONG THE WAY, a post script to Walks’ spiritual journey discussing in short essays, experiences, insights & humor on the “Long Road Home.” Finally, as Walks sees his long years in federal prison coming to an end, he shares each step of preparing himself for a new life outside those prison walls in LIGHTS IN THE DISTANCE.

A Man & His Music With a Message

By Edna Peirce Dixon

Five years ago, when Steven Walks On The Grass started writing the story of his spiritual journey, Long Road Home, the first line said, “I was born broken.” From there, his childhood went mostly downhill until “I started doing drugs, weed, uppers, downers, all arounders, anything to help me deal with this hole in me.” His youthful drive and talents as a vocalist put him on a path to heavy metal rock success in the 1970’s, but in the end, demon heroin would have its way.

Now, after some 37 years in prison, 7 of those in solitary confinement, for crimes committed to feed a relentless heroin addiction, Steven is free at last and working hard to rise clean and sober from the ashes and scars of his own self-destruction. While overcoming his addiction and doing the time for his crimes, Steven learned to survive within the most violent of supper-max penitentiaries.

It would be the power of Native American brotherhood in spiritual ceremony and a deep connection to his music that gave Steven a strong sense of purpose and the will to change. Though some may not see it, (mothers always do) beneath the rough exterior and air of confidence lies a tender heart and the vulnerability of one who cares deeply about the future yet feels unsure about finding his place in it.

Thus, finding the opportunity, the courage, and indeed, the trust to move forward while learning the ways of people on the outside have not always been easy. Steven learned generosity of spirit from his beloved wife, Janice, and many others who kindly helped him learn the basics of navigating through this confusing new world. He also learned caution from some who would mistake his naivete for weakness, and without conscience, take unfair advantage of his generosity of spirit. This left yet another empty hole where friendship had been intended and earned. But lessons learned, Steven moved forward undaunted. Eventually, having long since tired of singing the same old cover standards again and again at open mics around town, a new way opened.

In late Spring of ‘24, as if by providence, Steven met up with Adam Stanger, a fellow old-timer, a guitarist with the spirit and the skill to do the hard work of creating new and original music. Only then did Steven feel comfortable with revisiting some of the many deeply meaningful poems and song lyrics he wrote during those difficult prison years. Before long magic began to happen as the two worked on blending bass riffs with lyrics, bringing Steven’s poignant stories to life. Then one day the two worked out the basics of a brand new song and it too quickly took on a life of its own.

With the addition of drummer, Lance Gregory, in early July, one by one, experimental tracks for the first 5 songs were laid down. Still a lead guitarist was needed so the three worked on through the summer with Adam recording tracks for both bass and melody. By now, the goal of making an EP album was firmly in mind despite lingering uncertainties.

Then in mid-September, only a month before their first live performance, Nathan Winkler, a rising young guitarist with rare skill and finesse, agreed to come on board and quickly learned his part for all five songs. Finally, the new WREKLESS was complete and ready to rock and roll.

It was a chilly October night for an outdoor performance at the Blue Grouch Pub in Springfield, IL, but the band was revved up and ready to “test drive” their upcoming EP and please the audience of friends and well-wishers who came out to see the show. Comedian Stoney Bologna served as MC and opened the show introducing the band as WREKLESS took the stage.

Steven began by telling a bit about his personal history and then, one by one, introduced each of the songs describing stories of his life experiences. As Steven and the band all well know, every song in its own way speaks to harsh realities that affect the lives of many in some way. Their hope is that others will find comfort in the words of each song, knowing someone truly understands:

Pirate, a fanciful tale of infamous criminals of the past plying their trade on the high seas, a metaphor, perhaps, for latter day robbers and thieves.

Breathe tells of an unforgettable personal experience when, despite desperate efforts to save him, a friend dies from his heroin addiction.

White Noise, in words too clear to mistake, Steven sings of his pain, helplessness and regret while in the throes of his own heroin addiction. Still recognizing the blessings in his life that so many others do not have, he cries, “I’ve lost my way!” He wills himself to “Find it, find it, find it!” But peace does not come, “Just go away!“

Hoka Hey, One evening when Steven and Adam were in studio working alone, Adam began playing a new riff. Something in the tempo struck a chord with Steven and in a flash he began singing. Making up inspired verses on the fly, the themes and riffs of the song began to take shape. telling the story of manifest destiny and the Native Peoples’ struggles against the invasion of their lands. From the broken treaties to the boarding schools, the verses tell of the forced demise of Native history, cultures, languages. This dark cloud over our collective American Story needs to be told and will surely resonate with Natives and all people of conscience. Steven introduced Hoka Hey, a warriors cry meaning A good day to die, by talking about his own Native heritage and experiences with the American Indian Movement’s push for the rights of Native inmates to practice their religion within the federal prison system.

Footnote, inspired by Steven’s own deep depression as he went through months of painful treatment for a devastating illness. His salvation was his music and the unwavering support of Native brothers, but still he frequently visited thoughts of suicide. Footnote offers deep empathy, understanding and hope to others for whom life has become unbearable.

Still today, Steven struggles with his own PTSD and gains comfort through a giant rabbit he calls, Piggy. Her silly antics were the inspiration for the name, Wrekless Rabbit Studios where Steven and Janice work to earn a living. Steven can do what he loves to do while providing services for other musicians, always welcoming the growing Wrekless Rabbit Nation of clients and friends.

In the coming weeks, WREKLESS will record these first five songs for an upcoming EP to be released on YouTube and other streaming platforms at 11:58pm CT on December 31st.

Meanwhile, after a few days’ rest, the band will be back in studio hard at work on seven more original songs for a future LP album. Stay tuned. No telling what magic these Wrekless Rabbit Nation warriors might come up with as the Music With a Message continues.

E.P.Dixon, aka, Sings Many Songs, Steven’s proud adopted mom.

A Guitar Named Hero

By Edna Peirce Dixon

September 20, 2024 – The rest of the story, July 3, 2025

Musicians do not always give their instruments names but when they do it’s because they have a special story to tell. In this case, Hero happens to be a 1962 Teisco Del Ray Model ET- 200 Guitar and the mysteries of his convoluted journey certainly beckon us to follow.

Hero’s story begins in 1976 when Jack and Edna Dixon and their children travelled from Texas to visit family in South Carolina. Always full of surprises, Aunt Matt took her young visitors to her storage shed filled with all kinds of interesting stuff and invited them to each pick out anything they’d like to have. Twelve-year-old Eric selected an electric Teisco Del Ray guitar in a black case with a red lining.

Back in Texas when Eric was unable to get any sound from the guitar, he removed the electronics thinking he might fix the problem. When that failed Eric returned the guitar to its case and moved on with being a kid. A few years later the family moved to Tennessee and for the next 45 years the guitar sat in the basement, the missing parts lost over time amid a child’s belongings.

Fast forward to 2019, when Eric’s mom, Edna and a man named Steven Walks On The Grass were introduced via email by a mutual friend. Steven’s late mother, Judi and Edna had the same maiden name so Edna did a little genealogy research and discovered that indeed they were distant cousins, sharing a common ancestor more than 300 years back. So from this link of kinship, a friendship grew and eventually even before they met in person, Edna and Steven would adopt one another as family.

Ever since he was a young man, Steven, had been a professional rock vocalist, poet and lyricist. Even before Edna actually heard Steven sing, she had been moved by the depth and intensity of his talents and the powerful language Steven used in his songs to evoke the deepest and darkest pain and human suffering even unto death. Steven had been away from his music for a few years, but after moving back to Illinois, he and his wife, Janice, enjoyed going out to open mic nights at local bars just to sing and jam with musicians in their community. Eventually they opened Wrekless Rabbit Studios a small recording studio and Steven began searching for like-minded musicians interested in developing an album of all-original music.

In early 2024, Steven and Janice made their first trip to Tennessee to meet Edna and family  face-to-face. Edna had heard about the amazing guitarists Steven was working with and felt this was the time for the old Teisco sitting in her basement to find a new home. Steven soon found someone with the skill and knowledge to find replacement parts to restore the old instrument. In the process of researching sources, some remarkable discoveries helped to trace the guitar’s history.

The manufacturer had been out of  business for years but existing records named the original buyers of custom-made instruments listed by serial numbers. What a discovery! This guitar was originally purchased as “made to order” in 1962 by a man named David Scott Greiling living in southern California. Finding David Scott Greiling, known as “Scotty” to his friends, suddenly brought a whole new meaning to the historical journey of the Teisco Del Ray guitar. There is no way of knowing how many times it may have changed hands before it showed up in South Carolina fourteen years later.

Several old documents told a bittersweet story: Scotty Greiling trained with the U.S. Navy in jet aircraft for carrier operations and received his master’s degree in Nuclear Science from the Navy post-graduate school at Monterey, California. We can only surmise Scotty’s musical tastes since his special order Teisco Guitar was specifically designed for surfer music. We also know that Scotty and his wife, Nancy were married on December 19, 1964 in Monterey, California.

Other military records for David Scott Greiling succinctly reveal the rest of the story:

  • Promoted to Lt. Commander 1 Apr 1966.
  • Deployed to Vietnam April 1968.
  • Died on a combat mission 24 July 1968.
  • Listed as MIA/POW and later KIA.
  • Memorialized on Vietnam Vets Wall Panel 51 W.

 “When he shipped out to Vietnam,” his friend said, “He took with him his determination and idealism. He wanted to serve his country.”

https://www.virtualwall.org/dg/GreilingDS01a.htm  Comments from Shipmates and Military Families

~~~

By September, 2024 Scotty’s guitar had been fully restored. “It might be a lowly rambler,” Steven said after hearing its magical riffs for the first time, “But it holds the power of all that it represents – the power that compels us to play music, the power of love that compels warriors to fight and die for their country.” Thus, in honor of America’s warriors, Steven gave the name, “Hero” to the lost pilot’s guitar.

Janice, herself a veteran of the Vietnam era, had been a volunteer Patriot Guard Rider for several years. She is keenly aware of the millions of stories that must never be forgotten. Together Steven and Janice determined that ultimately Hero must be placed in the hands of a worthy musician deserving of the honor.

About this same time, Tom Love, a young disabled veteran, had just started venturing out on open mic nights to enjoy listening and joining in jam sessions with the other musicians. Tom soon found new friends and none were more insightfully understanding than Steven and Janice when he began to share his story. Tom’s early years were difficult; some lived in a children’s home. Though he struggled in school Tom always had an ear for music and excelled in boxing and wrestling. After graduating high school, like many young men in his position, he enlisted in the military in 2009.

Tom soon found himself deployed to Iraq where he would serve in Operation Enduring Freedom. His story puts a real-life face on familiar wartime news reports and statistics. Tom and his buddies were travelling in a PLS HEMTT truck when the radio suddenly came alive. Tom leaned in, trying to understand the flurry of urgent messages. That’s when the mortar round hit the truck followed by a hail of small arms fire. Several of his friends were killed and Tom, scarcely more than a boy, survived with a prefrontal lobe brain injury…and a future lifetime of cognitive limitations and traumatic memories.

Twenty-five years later, Tom lives alone; every day facing his own struggles while humbly doing all he can to mentor other young men who lack focus and direction. Tom’s home is his haven complete with a baby grand piano and his guitars which he taught himself to play. Sometimes his friend Dylan Woods, a brilliant young blues guitarist, comes by and the two enjoy jamming together. “Music has the power to transform emotions,” Tom reflected, “Especially when played with other people.” 

Dylan, Steven and Tom
Good Friends Making Music and Having Fun

Though he denies being a hero, to Steven and Janice and all the other musicians who have come to know him, Tom is the epitome of a courageous warrior. So on a June evening in 2025, Tom’s friends gathered with him at a local bar for a jam session. In a surprise ceremony, Steven presented Tom with the “Guitar Named Hero” in the black case with red lining. The music went on into the evening with Hero in the hands of a musician who is truly worthy to love, play and treasure all that he stands for.

~~~

When Steven first learned the story of Scotty Greiling, his heart longed to sing out for the legions of warriors who came home from America’s wars only to be treated with utter contempt or ignored in the communities they returned home to. Many millions of young men having witnessed horrors of war that no mother’s son should ever see, have been denied adequate compensation, work opportunities and even access to the emotional and psychological support they so desperately needed. Even today, a large percentage of America’s homeless are forgotten veterans of America’s wars still suffering from PTSD, addictions and mental illness from the unspeakable violence of war.

Once inspired, suddenly there was this:

I’m Never Coming Home  © by Steven Walks On The Grass September 17, 2024

If We Can Keep It

By Edna Peirce Dixon

July 4, 2024

Long ago, after our children were raised and before the internet, cell phones, and social media, my hubs and I used to celebrate the July 4th holiday by going to hear an evening of patriotic music played by our local symphony orchestra in a peaceful outdoor setting. Each year the concert ended with the 1812 Overture to accompany a thrilling fireworks display. Though sweltering hot, the experience was well worth the discomfort. Now, being of an advanced age, we stay at home, maybe watch some of the festivities on TV if we can stay awake long enough.

Now I suppose wet-blanket malcontents may have always been around, but thanks to my having more time to observe and the “in your face” screamers on social media as well as the ever-present “news cycle,” I cannot help but see the presence of so many bitter people with negative attitudes. Many diatribes seem to be based on passionate emotional perceptions of the great wrongs of our country’s past. It seems as though they would rather fight old battles over again than put history in context, learn from it and do better. Seems to me that rather than creating more negative history, working out our problems thoughtfully is the only way to grow as a nation unique in the world. So yes, it comes as a shock to learn that bitterness born of emotion over reason extends to many of our most treasured American celebrations including Independence Day.

As for me, in spite of the negativity and bitter lessons of the past, I choose to celebrate by reflecting on all the positive changes and opportunities we as Americans have gained just during the past 90 years within the memories of our lifetimes. We’ve lived through so many stages of growth – every decade has had its share of ups and downs and struggles with all the age-old foibles of being human. Between us, as children, we’ve personally endured the loss, sacrifices, and terrors wrought by the great depression and WWII, the end-all of brutal wars. We’ve experienced poverty and injustice first hand.

We have lived through an endless array of religious, racial, and economic conflicts. We’ve lived with racial segregation knowing even then it was not right or fair. We’ve also lived through school bussing, the well-intentioned forced integration which created even deeper racial conflict. Now, well into the 21st Century, we’re witnessing the unintended consequences of government force which in essence destroyed vibrant black communities across the country, all of which served to deny generations of children a strong and proud racial identity.

For all of our lives we’ve witnessed ever-present, ever more powerful crooked political machines grinding away, turning a blind eye to the vision of our founders. We have watched our system of government degrade over decades into the pitiful, manipulative struggle for power we are now experiencing. We’ve lived through it all and even though I know very well the younger generations don’t give a rip about anything this old woman thinks, says or does, I will still celebrate with a heart of gratitude for we have witnessed how far we’ve come with our wonderful experiment as a Republic, however flawed and imperfect.

America, as envisioned by our forefathers somehow endured fairly intact into my lifetime. However slowly and painfully, I can see how amendments expanded that vision to embrace the natural rights of all human beings – women, Natives and all people of color – who were denied this basic right in that earlier time and culture. Though imperfect and always a work in progress, that self-same vision has lifted more people of all cultures, races, genders and religions to a higher level than any in the history of the world. Throughout our history, immigrants who have sacrificed everything to get here for a better life know this to be true.

Our ancestors, be they immigrants who came in search of a better life, or the indigenous peoples whose ways of life were forever changed by relentless expansion, or slaves who suffered and died in bondage – we, together, are the foundation of our unique blend of cultures in this great Republic. We must ask what would our ancestors truly think of their ungrateful descendants who do not even appreciate the price paid and the role they played in giving all future Americans life?  As a woman, for years I have been appalled by the militant feminists who so dishonor the legacy of the strong women whose shoulders they stand on and ridicule their sisters who choose to be full-time mothers. In their zeal to compete in a world dominated by men they seem to have forgotten what their foremothers always knew: that “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world” and raising children is the hardest and most important work of all.

Maybe it’s because of social media, but it seems to me that too many today seem to be too ignorant or bitter about the wrongs of history and too complacent to deeply consider every point of view on particular issues of the day. We talk the talk about love and gratitude, but how many even recognize the many blessings we should be grateful for? Those with strident, angry voices seem to have little stomach for seizing opportunities and taking on the responsibilities of living as free as humanly possible. Yes, too many suffer economic hardships that at the root were caused by political decisions, yet seem to be blinded by the long-debunked false promises of some impossible utopian world made by the very same politicians. Ignorance of history along with media-generated hatred and jealousy has reached such epic proportions that too many fail to see the bigger picture or the ever-growing power of larger and larger government control of every aspect of our lives.

America’s founding fathers warned that no self-governing democracy could last unless its leaders – and by default, every individual who chooses those who would lead – maintain the highest level of personal integrity and responsibility. Before the ink was dry, Benjamin Franklin expressed his doubts: “We have a Republic if we can keep it.” Nobody ever said it would be easy but our freedoms demand that every individual of every background in this diverse melting pot must take personal responsibility for their own role.

Living in freedom as the founders envisioned, means limited government control of a very narrow list of responsibilities – basically the common good to protect citizens from outside threats and from one another. Self-governance demands much from us all as individuals.

  • Unless every American learns to live and let live peacefully with all due respect for the inalienable rights of their neighbors,
  • Unless every American strives to take the initiative to reach for the opportunities in front of them with a grateful heart,
  • Unless every American is willing to take the personal initiative to reach out with a helping hand to the old, the sick and wounded, the disenfranchised, and those who for one reason or other are unable to help themselves,
  • Unless every American demands that our elected officials learn to govern within the confines of their enumerated power, that they do their jobs and refrain from delegating powers to unelected bureaucrats,
  • Unless every American demands that the judicial branch of government be peopled by servants of the highest integrity who not rule from the bench based on personal political ideologies, Unless every American demands that our political parties commit to acting in the best interest of the people rather than engaging in endless unethical maneuverings intended to wrest power from the other party,
  • Unless every American learns to distinguish between professional investigative journalists who give impartial, unvarnished reports and those who report personal opinions serving only as apologists for or even the propaganda arm of political ideologies,

Then I fear our great experiment in freedom can not last much longer. When we the people cave in to the allure of a life free of personal responsibility, when we stand and cheer when government promises to meet our every want for “free” even if it requires enslaving our neighbors at the point of a government gun, we are essentially ringing the death knell of freedom. As we have relinquished our rights, one by one, over time, government has stepped out of its constitutional boundaries to fill the void just as Benjamin Franklin foresaw.

There will be no room for crying when every aspect of every life will be under the control of some great bureaucracy that wields all the power and controls all the wealth. The Republic will be dead and we will all return to some form of feudal servitude. Save for the gentry at the top, everyone else will adapt to centrally planned mediocrity and struggle until enough become fed up. Then as the hunger for freedom grows stronger and stronger, bold men and women will rise up and the cycle of revolution will begin again here in America just as it has all over the world throughout time. This is the lesson of history.

Both individually and collectively, we Americans are among the most capable, intelligent and generous people in the world. So the question is, before it’s too late, what are we going to do about it?

The only thing I know for sure is that until I know everything, I know nothing. epd

Stand Back and Fan Me

Chapter 6

When We Get There

By Steven Walks On The Grass

And just where have all of you been since August? I know, I’ve certainly been busy too. In fact, I haven’t talked to any of you in a long, long time. So let’s go ahead and have a short conversation while I got a few minutes here, cause I have a conference coming in and I also have my band practice tonight. So here’s the deal.

I’m gonna tell you, since we last talked, I finally got the ankle monitor off on November 21, 2023! Yeah, I told everyone when that happened I would be on fire and to stay out of my way ‘cause I didn’t have a single day to lose to start doing what I’ve been dreaming of doing for years now. In fact, I wrote about it almost a decade ago. It goes like this: I decided that once I was free, I would form a band of musicians that could take me places.  I would seek out the most talented people around…but wait! It dawned on me, how the hell am I gonna find these people?

I’ll tell you how. I talked with my beautiful, devoted Janice and she suggested we should go to a karaoke night. So we did, and after a couple, I said okay, now it’s time I went to an open mic. So on October 8, 2023, I went to my first open mic. This was the first time I would take the stage with musicians as a free man in more than forty years!

My thought was that if I could get into open mic nights and make a decent impression, I would be able to draw in musicians who are capable of propelling my visions. Make no mistake, I’m not trying to be a rock star. I may joke a little, but really, I care nothing about that crap – been there, done that and wasn’t all that impressed with it.

What I am trying to do is be an active part of one of the very few things that I’ve truly loved all my life. I want to make music and write songs. I want to express myself through the lyrics and my delivery of the music for you – the people I want to hear me, the people that I want to know me, the people who love me, and even those who don’t understand me – all of you matter, all of you are special. I believe that a man is defined not only by those who love him when he is gone beyond sorrow, but also by those who were his enemies in life. Who are my enemies in life? That’s simple. I, Steven Walks On The Grass, have been my own greatest enemy.

And in this simple truth lies another simple truth. I am also my greatest advocate and benefit to myself. My compulsion is to do better, to be better, to make people proud of me, to be good to people. In short to be a better man than I ever was, even yesterday, even 5 minutes ago. This is what moves me to be my best and work to earn a modest living doing what I know and love to do. 

This is why I am awake at three in the morning working, going through the music, building and refining the sets for my band; listening, singing with the tracks.  Every day I spend 12 to 16 hours directly involved with my music which includes building my studio and my vision. Let me tell you a little bit about that.

Maisie, Queen of
Wrekless Rabbit Studios

Wrekless Rabbit Studios is dedicated to promotion, rehearsal, production, recording, and advocating for artists in the Midwest, particularly central Illinois. I have built a dedicated studio with ambient recording capabilities and mobile recording capabilities as well. Associated with the studio, we have a professional management team including recording specialists, booking and itinerary consultants, production and sales consultants.

We also have enough equipment to provide a PA system in three 14′ X 16’ rehearsal rooms as well as a large ambient living-room studio that is buffered and capable of producing incredible ambient recordings of live productions. On stage, here in the studio my band practices at least one night a week for 3 hours.

On other nights, I go out to different venues with the possibilities of being called on stage to sing with other bands during open mic or any time I go out to see them. Some of these amazing people have been directly involved in my journey. I’ll tell you a bit about them as we go along.

In just three months I have made more close friends than I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been exposed to some of the most brilliant musicians in the country and they have embraced me as a friend. They have invited me to join them on stage and I have given what I do best – my vocals filled with my heart, my passion, and yeah, my power. In short we have become rock royalty here in Springfield, Illinois. 

Even if you have read my book, Long Road Home, a lot of you still might not know that since my earliest youth, both before and during my years of incarceration, I’ve been a rock and roll vocalist and have performed with numerous bands. I do everything from hard rock, some heavy metal, country rock, southern rock, blues – really, anything that has a vocal note that catches my interest.

So fade back to October 2023. I’m still on home confinement, but I’m using my recreational hours every week to go to the open mic, at one of the best live music bars I’ve ever been to. The Blue Grouch in Springfield, Illinois is one of the best kept secrets in the Midwest. Every Thursday from 6:30 to 11 pm, some of the most brilliant musicians in the country filter through this little neighborhood pub for open mic night.

See, this is the one place we can come together and jam, not as opposition or competing bands, not as anyone headlining or opening, but as musicians playing together, doing what we do simply for the enjoyment we get from it. We don’t get any money. We’re not getting paid for these performances but every Thursday you can count on one thing, The Blue Grouch is rocking! The drinks are super reasonable and the waitress and bartender, Kayla, is a sweetheart. She goes out of her way to take care of the fellows making music. A big “Thank You” to Jeff and Amber Bouy, two great people who happen to own and operate The Blue Grouch.

I’ll never forget the first time I walked into “The Grouch.” It was early and the evening was just getting started. I hunched myself over a little bit, kind of shuffled in doing my funny little Ozzy walk thing. I walked up to the guy setting up equipment, “Excuse me, sir, I’d like to sing some songs. Is this an open microphone? Can I sing songs in here?” 

The guy looked at me, “Well, I guess you can; you’ll have to talk to Kortney.”

That man was Zach Landes, who happens to be a brilliant acoustic rhythm guitarist and vocalist. He does Southern rock and other genres and he’s an all-around good guy. In fact, I give Zach a hug every time I see him cause he’s my bro, one of many wonderful, amazing people you’ll come to know and get to meet.

Now, Kortney hosts the open mic nights at The Blue Grouch, so when he came in the door I knew who he was ’cause Zach had described him for me. What do I tell you about Kortney Leatherwood? Let me start out by saying he is absolutely amazing, beyond multi-talented. He’s multi-instrumental and vocal capable in several styles of music – and almost capable of backing me up vocally, but he just can’t seem to define the old man. But don’t worry, Kortney, when you grow up you’ll be a singer just like me. Just kidding, brother, you’re amazing, the consummate entertainer as Janice would say. Just don’t try to scream, let the old guy do that.

Anyway, on that particular evening, I walked right up to Kortney. “Excuse me, sir,” I say, “Is this open mic night? I like to sing songs. Can I sing a song too?”

“Well, sure,” he says eyeing me with a bit of skepticism.

I could tell he had a few pre-conceived ideas about this old man standing in front of him – probably wants to sing some old dusty a** song.

He says, “What kind of songs can you sing?”

”Well, I don’t know, I know a lot of Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Ronnie James, Dio, Queensryche, Ozzy… I know a lot of songs, Kortney, can I sing one?”

For a while he just looked at me, “So you can sing that stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, I can but I will tell you this, sir.  I can show you better than I can tell you. Put me on that stage.”

So there I am given a stage, a microphone, and a backline band to sing a song. Can’t You See? Turn The Page? Man in the Box? Something. I don’t remember what I sang. Doesn’t matter. All I know is Kortney was sitting dead in front of me and another brilliant musician was standing on stage with me and I could see the surprise written on their faces.

Here was Brian Arnold, one of the best guitarists I’ve ever encountered. So versatile, so fast with articulation, from concept to fretboard, Brian is by far the guitarist I most enjoy taking the stage with. In fact, I constantly look for opportunities to sing with Brian just so I can come in early and step on his leads, or make mistakes he recognizes, so he will give me that “look” and I just laugh as if to say, “What? You didn’t get the memo? I’m a rock star. I can do what I want, man.” Then we laugh and keep going. This happens on stage in live performances but most people don’t see these little exchanges. You only see what comes off the stage and what you hear.

And I promise you this: In sixty days of doing what I do vocally and musically and in sixty days of getting to know and play with people in this business, in this area, in this town, in this moment I feel like I’m successful. So, I’m getting on with building my own band now.  We’ve had a few speed bumps to get over. So far we’ve not played a concert together and I’ve had to restructure the band 3 times. The material is super difficult and finding the right personnel is as well. What can I tell you, dealing with us musicians can be a pain sometimes but as of this writing, I believe we have the right mix of talent and personalities to be successful.

The band, Wrekless, will include rising young talent, Jackson Kirkland on drums and Danny “The Kid” Schroeder on guitar as well as a couple of old rockers and lifelong friends, Roger Carr on bass and me, Steven Walks On The Grass, on vocals. A special thanks to Roger for his standing offer to step up if needed. Roger already plays bass with The Bad Grandpas but he never hesitated when called upon. Roger’s skills and experience with our brand of rock music truly makes Wrekless complete.

Now let me take you a couple dates down the line to November 21st. By this time I’ve already been recognized as a vocal force to be dealt with. People are hearing I’m “someone you need to hear” or “someone you just won’t believe what they’re doing.” Brian Arnold, the guitarist for the musical group, Grounded, is so influential in the music scene around here as is his band-mate and good friend, Kortney Leatherwood… What can I say, I owe them both a debt of gratitude. 

So I’ve been singing a few songs in The Blue Grouch on Thursday nights every week. Some of the songs are incredibly difficult and vocally challenging, but I delivered them, nonetheless. Somewhere along the line Kortney and Brian decided they needed to go to Route 66 Motorheads and talk to the people there that produce the John Hall mini concert series open mic’s for professionals.

Motorheads is a nationally acclaimed venue and tourist attraction off of Route 66 through the state of Illinois. It’s right outside of Springfield on Toronto Road. This place is really incredible, you need to go there to see for yourself. I can’t even describe it. The venue rocks there.

So I get a call from these two and they say, “Hey, we need you to come to Motorheads with us. We’ve got somebody who wants to talk to you.” So Janice and I go out there expecting maybe this “somebody” to be a guitarist looking for a band or whatever.  What I did not expect was to be introduced to the coordinator for the open mics out there. Now, this is a big deal. It’s for professionals and by invitation only. If they don’t know about you, other musicians don’t put you there. In order to get you there, you have to be good, so I have two of the best musicians in the Midwest taking me there because they want me to be recognized for what I’m able to do.

At the time, I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal. I just thought we were making music and having a good time together. That’s when I determined that these guys were as serious about music as I am. Evidently I was on to something with my musical choices. The conversation went something like this with the coordinator at Motorheads:

“So, Steven, Kortney and Brian tell me that you do vocal warm ups with Queensryche.”

I said, “Well no, that’s not in fact the truth. The truth is, I do vocal warm-ups with Bruce Dickinson’s Air Raid or Siren from Iron Maiden. I just sing a lot of stuff.

At that point the guy looked at me and said, “OK, you’re in. Send us a set list of what you want to do. We’re gonna put you on in February.

Well, a lot has gone on since that November conversation. It’s now February, but I’m not going to play Motorheads this month. A few changes have been made so now in fact, the entire band known as Wrekless, will be headlining Route 66 Motorhead’s Professional Open Mic on March 14, 2024!

And since you all know how I am. My name is Steven Walks On The Grass and I will never surrender my dreams.

Wrekless Rabbit Studio Logo

Stay tuned for upcoming Wrekless Rabbit Studios Website

& Social Media Pages for the Studio and Wrekless Band.

Photo Credit: The Wreklesss Rabbit in Studio by Mackenzie Sharp

Logo Design: Lance Gregory

Update: Since its inception, the makeup of Wrekless has changed, growing ever more toward the level of dedication, experience and professionalism needed to produce and promote a world-class, all original, hard-rock album. It took months to find the right musicians and as of July 2024, Wrekless is now in production of its first album built around deeply meaningful lyrics written years ago by Steven Walks On The Grass while on his Long Road Home. Editor

Speaking Truth to Power

Prisoner Advocacy: Compassion, Love, Truth, Voice

By Edna P. Dixon

October 27, 2024

On Thursday morning, Oct. 26, 2023, I received a very disturbing phone call from Steven, one of the long-timers I’ve had the privilege to know and advocate for during the past 10 years.

For the past year, Steven has been under the control of a halfway house preparing for his final release from prison after serving his full sentence meted out by the federal courts. For months he has looked forward to getting his ankle monitor off at 6 am on Oct. 31, reporting to his parole officer, and getting on with the rest of his life. He has a stable home, a loving wife, a supportive family, and a job where he is accepted as a responsible and productive human being.

But after 37 years in captivity, deep inside Steven is still unable to fully believe he will ever be free. So this morning he asked his wife, Janice, to check the inmate locator… first time all was a go for next Tuesday. He has already met with his parole officer who totally understands his situation and appreciates the challenges he has already overcome. Steven feels good that his PO will be professional, fair and supportive. Then a few minutes later, they check the inmate locator again and it now it says his outdate is Nov. 21st. What? He has no good time for them to take away. How can these bureaucrats arbitrarily add time to a sentence set down by the court? What is their motive for being so punitive? I know this is long and I don’t mean to rant, I just want to make this whole situation known. Please read on.

Now It has been my honor to stand with this kind, talented and very intelligent man through the final 3 years of his 37 years in federal prison. I encouraged him to undertake the healing process of writing out his personal story and in turn posted each chapter on my blog. He took the challenge beginning with day one of his broken life, through years of deep addiction to hard drugs leading inevitably to crimes, prison and the loss of everything and everyone he loved. Steven would be the first to say prison for him was the ONLY answer! So he wrote a chapter every week telling about his spiritual journey while in prison as well as his accomplishments as a musician and more than 20 years as a sober, highly reliable and respected employee of UNICOR Prison Industries. (aka slave labor) https://journeysofthespirit.blog/long-road-home/.

During the year prior to his release to a HWH on Aug 31, 2022 we wrote every day and I did my best to help him as he worked through a mountain of questions, fears and anxieties about every aspect of returning to a world that has totally changed. He was as prepared, I believe, as anyone could be to make the adjustments and find success as penniless and friendless, he started life over at age 62. Steven had a goal and deep desire to make amends for the wrongs he had done by helping others avoid the mistakes he had made.

Once he arrived at the HWH, he continued to write about his journey. Though fraught with anxieties, he began to learn the basics – like how to use a cell phone – not from the aloof and even hostile staff at the HWH, but from other inmates. He enrolled in college and figured out how to navigate the city bus system. Sometimes he would make a panic call, needing reassurances when feeling out of place among crowds of young students and other uncertainties, but he found a world of caring staff and teachers who helped him gain confidence and eventually even to find his first job. He did good!

Despite his severe anxieties, as well as insulin-dependent diabetes and other painful physical disabilities, Steven managed to make steady progress. He knew he needed psychological counselling, but when he asked for it, the staff at the HWH over reacted and called the CEO of their parent company to come. He never received any kind of counseling, only more stress heaped upon him because of basic incompetence and lack of support on the part of the staff.

Eventually he reached the point where he could advance to supervised release and needed to seek subsidized housing. This was another stress that might have done him in but for outside friends and family who helped him along the way. For example, how in heck is a person in his situation supposed to get in any kind of housing – subsidized or not – when they have to pay a full month’s rent deposit up front…not to mention the fact that he had no way to provide even basic furnishings. Oh, yes… they don’t unless someone is willing and able to help them, which fortunately, Steven had. In the meantime, he had reunited with his wife. Janice moved heaven and earth to be there for him and make his little apartment into a cozy home.  

From this point, Steven very aptly tells of his own first job experience in this latest chapter he wrote in his ongoing story: https://journeysofthespirit.blog/2023/08/19/victory-tragedy-life/

But even as things began to come together, Steven’s job at the homeless shelter did not work out. It seems nepotism ruled as job qualifications go and he was resented by others less qualified for an upcoming opening as a case manager, so these co-workers set out to make his life miserable. He did the smart thing and walked away. Within a week Steven had a new job in a professionally-run business with a supportive and friendly working environment.

As all this was unfolding Steven was still plagued by anxiety and pain until finally he talked to a doctor about it. Yes, she could prescribe drugs with unacceptable side effects, but the support that would help him the most was a controlled dose of medical cannabis. This is perfectly legal in his state, and even under federal law. So now legally registered with an ID card stating this fact, he is able to function well with only minimum doses to control his anxiety and pain. He also now has an ESA (emotional support animal) to help with his PTSD and anxieties. But of course, the BOP doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his accomplishments or his wellness.

On two occasions, his weekly UA has shown a slight blip over the acceptable level for cannabis. The first time, as punishment, the BOP took away all the good time he had accrued, moving his outdate out to October 31st. This second time, as I said earlier, he had no more good time, so they simply tagged on 21 days to his outdate just 5 days before his planned release. And even worse, no one even bothered to notify him or his parole officer.

I must say that my experiences in dealing with the FBOP has totally destroyed all respect for this corrupt institution. When you get right down to the bottom line, despite all the flowery official rhetoric spun out for public consumption, the goal and purpose of the FBOP is to HOUSE, PUNISH and EXPLOIT lawbreakers for profit. The idea that our prison system is meant to rehabilitate and prepare broken people to return more whole to society is a farce and a sick joke.

We all know what injustices have been brought down upon thousands of people simply because the federal government cannot see fit to fully legalize marijuana…and every savvy person knows why too. This is a man who spent 37 years in captivity. He came home to a world that had become worse than when he went inside. Despite years of working for the federal government for pennies on the dollar, he had no social security benefits to rely on. Yet amidst all his apprehensions and roadblocks, he managed to do well with zero help from the Bureau of Prisons.

And now, in fact the bureaucrats want to punish him for taking a prescribed medication from a doctor licensed and qualified to prescribe in these certain instances, when the BOP could not or would not provide even the simplest of medications. The fact is, the BOP failed to provide his prescribed medicines on 7 different occasions while in the HWH. Four of these involved insulin! In one particularly egregious situation the BOP failed to provide him with insulin for 4 whole days. This landed him in the hospital emergency room from the back of an ambulance with deep brain trauma due to a fall when he went unconscious immediately after receiving his first restart dose of insulin. One would think the nurse at the HWH would have known the proper precautions in this situation.

Fact is, as Steven’s experience illustrates, the BOP has little interest in any prisoner’s rehabilitation or successful transition. The time for real top to bottom reform is long past. The BOP bureaucracy acts with impunity, answering to no one. Therefore it must be forced by strong outside oversight, hopefully with some teeth in it, to stop behaving in a criminal manner, stop the waste, fraud and abuse of taxpayer dollars, and to rethink its priorities and goals. epd

Victory, Tragedy, Life

Chapter 5

When We Get There

By Steven Walks On The Grass

August 19, 2023

Just so we’re on the same page, I want to tell you about some things that have gone on that I haven’t spoken on yet; I’ve been processing them within my own mind and emotions.

You know I work as an overflow shelter aid for The Salvation Army and deal with the homeless every day. I know most of the people by name and have a personal relationship with each one of them, both professional and human. While all the time I speak about my thoughts and feelings and beliefs on things that happen in and around me, there are aspects of my life and things I don’t comment on that might just be important too. So today we’re going to talk about some of these.

Knowing these homeless people on a first name basis as human beings, we laugh, we joke, I get on their butts when they break the rules, and they generally fall right back in line. I’ve been in this job for almost 3 months now. This is the field I chose to begin with – giving back, helping others, making a difference in the world – something more than just being a crime statistic.

Of the people that I deal with every day at work, Steve was the nicest guy you would ever meet.  Always up early, he was ready and willing to work and help clean up. Every morning at 5 AM he would come and say, “You got any garbage bags?” Then he would proceed to empty the trash and replace the liners. After placing all the bags by the door, he would ask me to unlock the door so he could take the garbage out to the dumpsters. Doing this task every morning was his way of giving back and helping.

Since I’ve been working as a shelter aid my schedule has been all over the place. At first they had me working both evenings and overnights. Then, of course, my disabilities forced me to cut my hours. Social security said if I worked more than a certain amount, I would automatically be disqualified for my social security disability claim. Everything is a catch-22! One would think that after working for the federal government for more than 25 years in prison for pennies on the hour, I would at least have social security, but that’s not how it works. All those years, not one penny was paid toward my future Social Security benefits. So here I am, 63 years old with physical and emotional disabilities, and I must work to live until I qualify for disability benefits.

I truly need my job but I also have valuable knowledge and skills and I want to work and give back too. Fact is though, I’m not getting any younger and I don’t know how much longer I can continue working and functioning this way. Since I’ve been working at the shelter, I’ve had to administer Narcan on two separate occasions. From my past experience as an addict, I know what it takes to keep someone alive during an overdose scenario, so my quick response before the ambulance arrived possibly saved the lives of 2 overdose patients, but this isn’t about that.

Drug addicts will be drug addicts; overdosing happens every day, that’s just the continuum of life. If that’s what you are, that’s what you’ll be, and only you can change that. Recovery takes strength and courage, but most of all, a deep sense of desperation – the same kind of desperation that would lead a good man who always had a good smile and a good attitude to climb a stairwell to the 10th floor in a building, open a window and leap through the window to certain death – just to put an end to this desperation.

Ten stories below lies a 31-year-old life extinguished because people couldn’t reach the depth of his despair and pull him out. Either they couldn’t or they wouldn’t; doesn’t matter either way. Steve’s gone and he’s never going to have the chance to redeem himself in his own eyes or in the eyes of a world that made him an outcast, a pariah. it’s just pitiful, it’s so sad. 

No one saw this coming; no one had a clue. But when that man walked over to that building and asked someone outside for a cigarette and they told him, “No, you don’t belong here! Get out of here! Get out of here! Get out of here!” Just maybe that was the act that finally sent him through that window. I don’t know.

All I do know is now I’m being confronted with yet another change in my job that’s probably going to force me to have to leave it. I will seek further employment in this field – there are other facilities here in town – and I’m not ready to give up on people that need me. They need what I have even if it’s only a sympathetic ear, and I still need what they need – for someone to care. Even if it’s only by listening to their words, try in the back of your mind to feel the pain of knowing you’ve lost EVERYTHING!

Chronic homelessness is not a choice people make. It’s an affliction placed on them due to circumstances, sometimes beyond their control. On most issues, you can say what you want: “Oh, they like it. Oh, they could get a job. Oh, they could do this or that.”  You’re wrong, they can’t, or they would. I’m not going to act like I’m sitting here in an ivory tower preaching to anybody. I’m not. I’m just telling you how it is from where I stand next to the people that I’m talking about. Helping is not only about smiling and handing them plates of food and giving them blankets. It’s also helping them set up doctor’s appointments, helping them try to get identifications and social security cards. If you don’t have a social security card, you can’t get an identification. If you don’t have an identification, you can’t get a job. If you can’t get a job, you certainly can’t get out of homelessness. 

There is a major transition going on with my job. The Salvation Army homeless shelter has been taken over by an organization called Helping Hands Ministries. Sure, they want to take as many experienced people on board as they can get from the current staff, but the new management seems to want to treat them all like low-skilled beginners, giving them the crappiest scheduled times. I’ve always been honest with you. I’m just relating what it is, but I say exactly what I think, and I tell you exactly how I feel. Otherwise, what’s the point anyway? I just can’t work overnight shifts anymore. I can’t get my days to change to nights and my nights back to days within a matter of hours; this kind of stress just doesn’t work for me anymore. Then there’s the fact that they asked, and I told them what schedule I could work and how many hours Social Security would allow me to work. Apparently they ignored all this for now the new schedule has me working all overnights and far fewer hours than I need and am allowed to work. Well, I’m not doing that, so it looks like I’ll be going to other missions and shelters in this area trying to find a new job.

His name was Steven, the same name as mine. He was a good man and he was trying to come out of his nasty situation, but the world proved too nasty to allow it. I miss seeing this guy. I miss his smile and that look that said, “Hey how are you? I’m fine, everything’s gonna be okay…until it’s not.” I’m going to leave you with this. There are thousands of homeless people in this country that want a good life. They are not all bums on skid row and they’re not all bad. Mostly, they’re just people who hit a bad patch in their life.

What the hell is wrong with us?  Why do we allow this? We would rather spend billions in some banana republic than help the people we live with here in our own country. My thoughts are, if they’re here, we help; everyone else we help after we help our own, and we are sorely in need of help. I don’t understand it, can somebody help me with this? I can’t see this as humane or right or kind or godly in any way. What I can see is, it’s going to take people, lots of people, stepping out there saying, “I want to help. I want to give back. I want the world to be a better place – not just for me but for those I share the world with.”

As for me, I’m going to do it. I’m going to keep fighting, I’m going to keep advocating…and I’m going to keep remembering my friend, Steve, the one who smiled and gave of himself as best he could, the one the world just discarded as though his life had no meaning.

When We Get There

Dreamtime Song

Completing the Sacred Circle

By Edna Peirce Dixon

August 12, 2023

August 8, 2015

How shall I sing my song?

I scarce know where to start.

The hour is late and all I know,

This song must come from my heart.

Sings Many Songs was the name he gave,

The one with the Heart of a Bear.

‘Twas a gift from Spirit, but I did not know,

The songs I was meant to sing.

Like a cloak too large, the name didn’t fit,

So, on a shelf it languished, unclaimed.

And then one day, by Spirit’s hand,

A teacher came with wisdom rare,

Through untold pain, this teacher arose,

A Ghost, dancing in Spirit’s domain.

Drumming and singing the old wisdom songs,

Of gratitude, strength, perseverance, and hope,

With a heart of kindness, he gives his all,

To teach the struggling to heal their pain,

And to walk their path in a better way,

Cloaked in Beauty, Peace, and Love.

So I heard the drumbeat and listened with intent,

Now little by little, Spirit touched this seeking soul.

As in a dreamtime, the sacred path arose,

Raising her up to that long-hidden name.

How shall I sing my new song from the heart?

I ask my Spirit guides for a start.

The vision of Red-tail will help keep me strong,

The sweet Wood Thrush flute song carries my prayers

On the winds of gratitude for Creator to hear.

With courage and devotion and love,

I Sing Many Songs for all I hold dear.

May you each become the joyful being we are all meant to be.

Sings Many Songs August 8, 2015

~ ~ ~

But what of tomorrow? What more does this mean?

Is Sings Many Songs truly my name?

Or was it just a gesture, an honor from a friend?

Like dreams and dandelions, blowing in the wind.

Do we even exist if no one calls our name?

Creator knew the answer; I could only wonder.

The meaning, like the future, was not for me to ponder.

Long years went by, my question still unanswered.

Till the mystical power of kinship opened a way,

 A Mother’s heart from the beyond reached out, tapped me on the shoulder.

Walk with my boy, came the urging, Walk with my boy. Listen, he needs you now!

So I took the veiled path,

Only vaguely aware of his dark reality.

And when we spoke, this Native stranger and me,

He said his name is Walks On The Grass.

I gave him mine almost tentatively.

Then our next exchange, when we spoke our names,

I called him Walks; he called me Sings!

How sweet is this? He called me SINGS!

Months passed into years; we spoke of many things,

Of pain, regrets and sorrows, of beauty, hopes and dreams.

And then one day, a gift arrived,

Walks wrote this poem; it touched my heart:

Sings Many Songs

She’s been so many things throughout her life,

A mother, a healer, a friend and a wife,

A helper to the People, and a blessing to us all,

Never one to walk away, she answered every call..

She Sings Many Songs.

She has been a big part of my life,

Become close to me in this short time,

She’s been a friend who helped me find my way,

In times when I thought I’d lose my mind.

She Sings Many Songs.

She’s been so many places, and some she tells me of,

And through it all she has always stood tall, filling hearts with love,

When the whole wide world has let me down, she’s always been around,

And offered encouragement and truth, this is what I’ve found.

She Sings Many Songs.

Ahoa, Mitakuye Oyasin,

Steven “Walks On The Grass” Maisenbacher,

Dec 23, 2021 Merry Christmas Sings

~ ~ ~

Thanks to three who’ve touched my life,

The circle is complete,

I’m now at one with my Native name.

But all things change, names too, you see,

All along this was his Mother’s plea,

The one who used to call me Sings,

Now calls me, Mom; on this we did agree.

And when the morning flowers come,

By messenger, as they always do,

I smile (for my cousin and me) and answer,

“Thank you Son, you mean the world to me.”

The golden leaves of autumn,

Fragile as they may be,

One by one, drift softly down to Mother Earth

To rest in harmony, as one, upon the mighty rock beneath the tree.

Walks, I long to see your face, hear you drum, sing your songs.

Till then, as life’s golden days drift gently by

Like summer sun and butterflies upon the Joe Pye weed,

I’ll be content to sing my songs,

And pray the future will be well and good,

For you and all who touch the world with loving kindness.

EPDixon August 12, 2023

August 10, 2025

Message from Ghost Dancer once again he has been languishing in a prison cell – now for 9 hard months with no trial. . . all because of people in high places who wish to silence him, this time forever. . .  I shared this song with Ghost lest he forget he is not forgotten. He sent this in return. . .

Estonkos Dear Heart,

 yes you have such a beautiful heart and spirit. Sing in Beauty and Love so it surrounds you in every  way. it is a journey that is filled with everything that exists and guidance shall always be there  for you.

 This song is awesome you have written and walked.

 Much has come to pass, and more to come. Walk In Beauty and Love Always !! ttyl Love YA Ghost

Simple Facts

Chapter 4

When We Get There

By Steven Walks On The Grass

Several simple facts I need to put out here.

I’m a recovering drug addict. I’ve had control of my addiction for more than 23 years.

I will never allow myself to be the man I was while addicted and under the influence of opiates, hallucinogenics or barbiturates.

Since I’ve been out of prison, I’ve suffered many episodes of PTSD including anxiety attacks, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, and general feelings of being overwhelmed.

As a federal inmate, I am forced to drop urine screens every week. They look for opiates, amphetamines, barbiturates, cocaine and marijuana.

Now stay with me. The facts get complicated…

As a Native American, I am both a student and practitioner of holistic medicine. I know the benefits of herbal remedies, including medical cannabis. If used in controlled settings cannabis is a miraculous relief to someone like me. Everyone who knows me knows how I feel about drug use and addiction. That includes alcohol. I don’t drink either.

When I was sent home from the halfway house to home confinement, I was told I would be responsible for my own medical care and prescriptions. I took the responsibility seriously and eventually sought medical help for my most urgent unmet needs, namely PTSD and chronic back pain which no one at the halfway house would ever do. I put myself under the care of a physician who monitors my conditions and my prescriptions and dosages of medical grade cannabis with vigilance and professionalism. This makes me a licensed medical marijuana user in the State of Illinois. I’m comfortable in my relationship with the doctor who helps me deal with the pain and stress just as much as I am with the care providers who handle treatment and prescriptions for my diabetes, COPD, hypertension and cholesterol medications.

Since putting myself under this physician’s care, I have found that medical grade cannabis administered in very small amounts throughout the day has stopped me from having anxiety episodes and other manifestations of my PTSD during times of stress…and that isn’t all. Several years ago, while in custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, I had serious issues in my spine and was finally sent out for corrective surgery.  After surgery, I was returned to my cell and left to my own devices with no help from medical staff. I received no wound care and subsequently developed a Staph infection around my spinal column. Before this was finally treated and healed the infection had caused irreversible nerve damage. To this day it causes nearly constant pain. The surgeon said I would need further, more invasive surgery with 16 screws, 4 plates, and a cage around the vertebra of my lower back but there was no guarantee that I would be out of pain completely. This surgery is not an option, but I have found the medical cannabis also alleviates 90% of the pain in my lower back.

Here’s where it gets complicated.

Even though I’m no longer at the halfway house, I still have to give a urine drop each week. Recently I provided a urine that tested positive for marijuana metabolites. They say I have self-medicated, so now they say I must have a hearing to determine what they intend to do to me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve found a treatment that works for serious issues that have bothered me for years yet could not be controlled or treated by prison doctors or county health center doctors.

It took a private practitioner who recommended that I try cannabis if I do not want to be drugged and tranquilized in order to deal with my mental disabilities. In his written diagnosis and treatment plan he says he has studied me as his patient and it is clear that in his medical and professional opinion, “marijuana use and cannabinoids ARE a medical necessity for this patient.”

Even with this, it took time for my very supportive Janice to even get on board. She was strictly against my smoking marijuana, even medicinally, until she saw it work. Let me tell you, if you ever want to know if anything’s changed with yourself, ask someone who loves you deeply and spends their life with you, someone who sees you at your best AND your worst.

Janice has seen that since I’ve been using the prescribed medications, I have had no episodes. She has also seen that I have been able to continue functioning at work, in school, making crafts, and at church. All these things that I enjoy doing, I am still able to do without emotional or mental distress.

So, the question is, if you were ill and there was a remedy available, would you take it? If you were diabetic, would you take insulin? If you were injured, would you take pain medication? Have you ever suffered with PTSD or other emotional or mental illness? If so, do you take medication to help you deal with it? By the same token, would you deny a cancer patient a treatment that could relieve some of the horrible side effects of chemotherapy just because you didn’t approve of even the medical use of cannabis?

My point in all this is on Thursday, July 27th they are going to have a hearing to determine what they want do to punish me for taking my own medical conditions in hand as I was told to do and obtaining my own medications. I am going to fight this. Not only is it wrong but I did not set out to violate any rule. I merely sought treatment for debilitating emotional and mental illness and physical pain. In plain English, let me say, no one deserves that, so stay tuned.  It’s about to get ugly and I’m in for the fight.

As you all know, my name is Walks On The Grass, and I will never give up.

~~~

Addendum: Due to the seriousness of this issue, as Steven’s editor, adopted mom and biggest supporter in his journey to wholeness, I feel compelled to offer a few thoughts of my own.

Sheltered and naïve as I was, in the years I’ve known Steven, I’ve often been a little slow on the uptake as I strived to understand the world he has lived in for so long and how it shaped his way of thinking. His sense of humor, integrity and simple honesty have been so compelling that I still find it hard to believe that he was once considered so incorrigible that he was made to spend more than 7 years of his life in solitary confinement. So many times I have listened as he grappled out loud with some problem or other. In every case, he has ultimately come to a clear and honest conclusion and made wise choices on his own behalf.

I’m grateful for one profound truth I learned from the counselors during my couple of years as an RN passing out pills to the struggling addicts in a residential rehabilitation facility. Most youngsters who turn to drugs in the first place, have gentle hearts and tender spirits that simply cannot cope with the pain of their circumstances. I count several recovering addicts among my friends, and I know each one to be exceptionally warm, talented, thoughtful individuals. Steven is no exception.

Since his release from prison I’ve been observing from afar and I know now that Steven has not wanted to worry me about his problems, so they often come out with a touch of “I’ve got this Mom, don’t worry.” There have been a few times though when I was the only one he could turn to in the midst of an anxiety crisis. It’s a helpless feeling when you know all you can do is listen and offer encouragement. Steven is one of the strongest, most determined people I’ve ever known and since Janice has been with him, all I’ve gotten were positive vibes. I wanted to believe that her presence, love and support had solved his problems. I should have considered that love alone cannot cure deep-seated PTSD so now I understand his decision to take action to find some relief for his mental and physical suffering.

Living life to the fullest – especially after so much of it has been wasted – is far more important than the ridged, shortsighted, one-size-fits-all rules set down by bureaucrats. This is just one item on the list of many thoughtful reformer’s grievances against BOP and other Federal policies that serve only to further punish long-time, older and disabled offenders by making re-entry exceedingly difficult.

Now I would like to mention a few things I think are important that Steven left out. As is documented in Part 4 of his book, Long Road Home, the months Steven spent at the halfway house were literally filled with hostilities. It seemed as though the staff felt their sworn duty was to see how much abuse it would take to break him. The progress he made toward adapting to and succeeding in this strange new world was accomplished not because of them, but rather, in spite of them.  Steven has expressed his gratitude for the kindness of other inmates who helped him learn the most basic things such as how to navigate his cell phone. He is also grateful for his family and friends who have loved him and cared about him; he has spoken endlessly about the many people who supported his efforts to help himself.

Steven does make mention of the important parts of his life, and some of the things he loves to do, and he has written about some of them. I want to add how proud I am of the fact that he is following through with each goal he has set for himself and commitments to all those who have come to his aid; indeed, he has proven himself over and over. Steven loves to sing. Though his background is rock music – yes, to this old mother, Steven is a “rock star” – but now he is using his musical and technical gifts to lift up so many people at the little Body of Christ Church of Buffalo, IL. He will also be returning to school for the fall semester, still pursuing his dream of working with troubled people, and he is now working at the Salvation Army Homeless Shelter in Springfield, IL. Given all this, I say Steven deserves to be seen for who he is in this moment, willing and able to find help and healing for his problems.

To be sure, when addiction leads to committing crimes prison will ultimately follow. That is a harsh but necessary reality and Steven would be the first to say that for him prison was the only answer. It is a known fact that psychologically speaking, the violent world of prison is not much different than the violence of war or severe natural disasters. Even after the warrior comes home or the criminal has served his time, the psychological damage will linger on. For Steven and too many others, PTSD and all that it entails is very real.

As I see it, Steven’s present and future, as it ought to be with his beloved Janice, is best described in the words of Francis Weller, psychotherapist and author who specializes in grief work, shame and addiction:

“We are the inheritors of an amazing lineage, rippling with memories of life lived intimately with bison and gazelle, raven and the night sky. We are designed to encounter this life with amazement and wonder, not resignation and endurance. This is at the very heart of our grief and sorrow. The dream of full-throated living, woven into our very being, has often been forgotten and neglected, replaced by a societal fiction of productivity and material gain. No wonder we seek distractions. Every sorrow we carry extends from the absence of what we require to stay engaged in this one wild and precious life.” Francis Weller

So, one would hope that Steven should be afforded every option for relief from his suffering so he and Janice can pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and get on with following their dreams wherever they may lead and always, always to stay fully “engaged in this one wild and precious life.” epd

When We Get There

Get Your Head On Straight

By Edna Peirce Dixon

Some 4 1/2 years have passed since that rainy Sunday morning in January when I stepped outside in my nightgown just to put some seeds in the bird feeder. Then came the sudden fall that left this just-turned-80-year-old alone and helpless with two broken arms. The immediate problem after help finally came was to deal with the fractures. The arms healed but I was left with another set of persistent symptoms: vertigo, imbalance, brain fog, ear fullness, tinnitus and a heavy head. This was eventually diagnosed as Meniere’s disease; I did all the therapy bit, learned to cope and resigned myself to just live with it.

I managed okay for a good while but over time most of these symptoms have grown steadily worse so I’ve now reached the point where the “quality of life” meter falls to near zero on far too many days. Part of this is the ever-increasing pain and stiffness in my neck with numbness and tingling in my arms and hands. Most surely this has been aggravated by the untold hours I spend sitting some which-a-way at my desk staring at the computer screen lost in doing what I love to do: writing, editing, genealogy, reading and communicating with friends. This is my world and my window on the world.

Even under normal circumstances, as we grow older and less able to get out, our world begins to shrink. But the many months of Covid lockdown brought all social interaction, exercise at the gym and the warm water yoga classes hubs and I had enjoyed for years to an abrupt halt. As a result I became even more dependent upon my computer and far less active physically. My dilemma is that almost everything that keeps me alive and motivated these days involves my computer.

One day recently I read an article posted on a Meniere’s support group site suggesting new chiropractic technology as a means to possibly relieve some Meniere’s symptoms. So I went on a search – on my computer of course – and found there is indeed such a specialist right here in my area. So with the encouragement of my husband and offspring, I made an appointment. Last week I went for a diagnostic workup which included various measurements of body alignment, Cone Beam Computed Tomography imaging, and ultrasound.

On the second visit my new chiropractic neck doc went over all the results with me. I was astonished to see the full extent of the mess inside my neck in 3-dimensional images from every angle. Fact is, no part of my entire head and neck is symmetrical and in balance with it’s opposite side, and neither is the rest of my body. Simply put as I understand it, this is all due to the brain’s effort to keep the head perfectly straight. The brain directs the body to compensate for the misalignment of the neck which is trying to support and balance this big head. So bottom line, in my case, my whole body is doing contortions while the flow of nerves and spinal fluid through the brain stem is about 55% blocked by the misaligned bones just below. No wonder my head feels so heavy and my brain so foggy and I walk like Otis on a Saturday night drunk!

It didn’t take a bit of persuasion for me to commit to the doc’s suggested 7-month plan of treatments that he believes will get me restored to at least 85 to 90% function. So the initial month of intensive care began immediately. I got down on my hands and knees and prayerfully laid my head on this specially designed padded platform for my first adjustment. He said to take a deep breath and then relax. Then POW! Actually, the adjustment was just a quick, strategic push, but the piercing sound of that bone being moved back into its proper position shot through my head like a bolt of electricity. Afterward, I felt a little dizzy at first but then came the gee-whiz moment when I discovered I could actually turn my head freely from side to side with no pain. To recover I got to sit and relax for a while in this big cushy chair that pretty much stood me on my head. Hey, I’m thinking I can do this!

When viewing the images, my doc explained to me how and why this misalignment has been developing gradually over many years of wear and tear and small injuries from everyday activities. Up to this point, my symptoms have been relatively minor and easily relieved by ice, heat and OTC pain meds. In my estimation, that freak accident I had in 2019 pushed this tired old neck over the edge, triggering the full-blown Meniere’s symptoms.

So just as this mess did not develop all of a sudden, it will not be healed with just a few adjustments. It will take time for CSR (the correction, strengthen and rehabilitation phase) to coax every part of this complex system to rest comfortably in its proper place with the strength to function as fully as possible. The system of nerves that travel from the brain through this narrow passage control the function, health and wellbeing of the entire body. Somebody had better be paying attention. We’re talking about many of the health issues that plague all of us sooner or later and you can’t take a pill to fix that! So even at my age I have renewed hope and trust that with this comprehensive treatment plan, this essential passageway can be restored substantially, and with it relief from some of my more annoying symptoms, overall better health and much better quality of life.

We’ll wait and see but I’m optimistic enough to go ahead and replace my drag-butt, antiquated old computer. Though I’m pushing 85 years I have no intention of giving up on pursuing the activities that give my life meaning, purpose and pleasure. The fast, new laptop I have coming will get my personal technology up to date. I’ll adjust, try to be more flexible and hopefully take some pressures off the old neck. Life goes on and I intend to participate however I can for as long as I can.

We’re never too old to get our head on straight.